My Metaphorical Anus is Bleeding
What the actual fuck is wrong with you?: Long story short I was drug through the mud, put on a scalding piece of metal that was taken from a fire rank with the stench of burning donkey penis, dropped on my head by carrot top to be finally shoved through a roaring engine lubed up only with the shit from 2 girls one cup. I frequently eat babies and open veins only to quiet the little ones when they become rampant with hunger. My greatest hope is that my grandmother reads this page and vomits blood onto her computer, which, by the way, is a 2003 Gateway desktop infested with the stench of windows vista and bogged down by the tremendously large zipped file of over one terabyte of dog porn which is for educational purposes only. That didn't answer my fucking question, apologize!: I was once a man of great talent; I could make goats make milk at my command, regardless of their fatigue, the weather conditions, whether they had eaten, had any children, or were female. I was on the top of the sexual food chain, women would come from as far as Moscow with their oxen, ready to receive my milk, and then they would trade their own milk which I would then freeze-dry and sell as a paste at the local Walmart. Then one day a man (if you could call it that) came to me with a scheming look in his eye sockets. You see, in my time, buzzaxes were the main way of persuasion, and this man had the newest model (which included large steel nails welded to the spinning blade of this magnificent beast of a weapon). Ladies and gentlemen, goys and birls, this was the moment that if there were a god, it would come crashing down from the heavens, because the next thing I knew, I was lofting goat dung straight for his buzzaxe. A simpleton would have lobbed this shit straight for his head, but an experienced milk farming unit such as myself would know that spraying shit everywhere is far more effective than a simple brown nugget. Moments flashed by and soon the man was coughing and sputtering insults from the ground, eyes caked in shit. I knew this man was going to take my land the Pandoran way and in no fucking world under in the galactic fuckeration was I going to let this happen. I promptly threw myself at the man, fully aware of the risk of extreme bloodsplosion from buzzaxe, flailing my arms and reciting my lines from my poop train days, prying the buzzaxe from the man's arms and carving his chest cavity into what looked like an orange peel sauteed in cranberry sauce. This is not to say that his chest cavity didn't taste like this as well, which it most definitely did. Next, while I literally saw his lungs giving their last breaths I decided to use my new, heavily modified 'X-ACTO knife' to increase the entropy of the universe (fuck you physics) using his head. One does not know the potential of a tooth to resemble and perhaps serve the same mechanical purpose of a bullet when... motivated... by a buzzaxe. This tooth gave me probably the quickest lobotomy in human history and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a trailer park rampant with Mormons (fuck you auto correct, respecting Mormons by making me capitalize the word). I had little memory of who I was before and only after cybernetic brain enhancements provided by the Dahl corporation did I remember this pivotal time in my life (there ya go, I used "pivotal," a word on the same level as "innovative," -- Steve Jobs' corpse, you may now cum). I now work as the source of McDonalds' chicken-nugget-meat-like gelatin, which by the way is a mixture of semen, sweat, shit, sharted shit, o-benzylnitrobenzene, cat liver, and Szechuan pepper corn with a hint of drippings from a cut of A5 Wagyu beef. Think of the Fucking Children!: Children should be used as either manual labor in conjunction with kill-switch-installed mech suits or as the main ingredient in Hebrew National's formula (is human kosher? I guarantee a PhD student in something like ethics or nutrition has briefly considered this as a topic for dissertation only to roll back to sleep in their cardboard house). I know I frighten you and your husband with made-up Celiac disease to keep up with your more trendy 40-something friends who went gluten free because they saw that one episode of South Park, but I would like you to consider where I'm coming from. Comparing the aforementioned A5 Wagyu Beef and the fibrous, tender meat of an American gorging themselves at the local Chin 'n Gout (I like my humans in hotter environments, keeps their natural metabolism down, allowing for more marbling of their meat), one can almost tremble at the thought of either cut of meat melt in his or her mouth, especially if morality and ethics are chucked out the window. We are at the pinnacle of genetic engineering and especially with the ability of certain individuals to bypass the bullshit ethical concerns of CRISPR-Cas9's potential to bring Alfred Hitchcock's movies to life, we can customize our meat-bearing "fellow citizens" to any culinary palette out there. Anyways, now that my rant is over and obviously is as coherent as fuck, I sign off telling my fans to never write shit on a dead website when you have actual things to do, and to instead kill the little ones inside you and drone on in your Kafkaesque world.